Chapter 5
The following morning, I gathered my brothers in the kitchen.
They listened while I read the letter.
Dominic stared down at his coffee through most of it.
When I finished, nobody spoke.
Finally Matteo said, “He should have told us.”
“Yes.”
“He should have told you.”
“Yes.”
Nico looked toward the window.
“I hate that he dealt with this alone.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“He didn’t, exactly. He created records. He made the agreement. He wrote the letter.”
“That’s still alone.”
“It’s what he knew how to do.”
Dominic stood suddenly and walked to the sink.
For a moment, I thought he was angry.
Then I realized he was crying.
Dominic never cried in front of us.
Not at Dad’s funeral.
Not when Mom died.
Not when his marriage ended.
He stood with his back to us, shoulders rigid.
“I was twenty-three,” he said quietly.
Nobody moved.
“He bought this house and told me he’d made a good investment. I remember thinking I should ask more questions.”
“Dom,” I said.
“I was the oldest.”
There it was.
The burden he had carried for thirty years.
Not responsibility.
The belief that being oldest meant he should have anticipated every disaster.
I went to him.
“You were twenty-three.”
“I could have—”
“No.”
He turned.
“You do not get to tell me I shouldn’t judge myself for trusting Adrian and then judge yourself for trusting Dad.”
His mouth tightened.
Matteo nodded.
“She’s right.”
Dominic looked at him.
“You agreeing with Elena is deeply unhelpful.”
“I agree with that too.”
A laugh escaped Nico.
Then Gabriel.
Then me.
Dominic finally smiled.
Something loosened in the room.
Dad’s letter had uncovered money.
But it had also uncovered something else.
The ways all six of us had built identities around protecting one another.
Dominic protected.
Matteo solved.
Luca argued.
Gabriel investigated.
Nico watched.
And I?
I smoothed things over.
Maybe none of those roles were wrong.
Maybe we had simply mistaken them for obligations instead of habits.
—
The legal picture became clearer over the following week.
A specialist reviewed the original Meridian documents.
Dad’s participation rights were valid.
More importantly, they had never been legally transferred.
The papers bearing my authentic signature related to ordinary marital estate matters.
The disputed signatures appeared on later documents attempting to release claims connected to Hawthorne.
But there was another complication.
Even if the signatures had been genuine, I alone could not have released rights belonging to all six Moretti siblings.
In other words, whatever someone had been trying to accomplish had not worked.
Gabriel explained this at the dining room table.
“So we’re not losing anything?” Nico asked.
“Probably not.”
“How much are these rights worth?” Matteo said.
Gabriel took off his glasses.
“That is the question everyone needs to stop asking first.”
Matteo blinked.
“Why?”
“Because the answer changes depending on how certain redevelopment clauses are interpreted. Also, because if this becomes only about money, we’ll make bad decisions.”
I smiled.
“Dad said almost exactly that.”
“I know. Irritating, isn’t it?”
Luca set down a folder.
“There’s something else.”
We all looked at him.
“The handwriting examiner thinks the signatures were created from samples.”
My stomach tightened.
“Meaning?”
“Someone likely had access to documents you actually signed and used them as models.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“But the Cole family?”
“Possibly. Or an employee. Or an outside professional.”
Dominic asked, “Can we prove anything?”
“Not yet.”
I surprised everyone by saying, “Then we don’t accuse anyone.”
Luca looked pleased.
“Excellent.”
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked.”
“You’re doing your courtroom eyebrows.”
“I don’t have courtroom eyebrows.”
May you like
All five brothers said, “You do.”
—
